Marc knew a fair amount of the language thanks to a half-German schoolmaster who’d given his brightest pupils after-school tuition. The passages Marc couldn’t understand were easily filled in by studying the beautiful illustrations, which came in full colour and were embossed with gold and silver leaf. Unfortunately, most of Henderson’s books were in English and Marc didn’t understand a word of it.

*

Henderson’s bedroom contained a double bed that seemed impossibly luxurious compared to the dusty, pee-stained excuses for beds at the orphanage. But best of all was the fact that he didn’t have Director Tomas whacking him on the arse if he didn’t jump out of bed the instant he was told to.

Freedom was good, Paris was pretty special; but spending half a morning drooling on a pillow and knowing that you didn’t have to get up was the best thing of all. What’s more, the Germans had stopped bombing when the French announced the city’s surrender, so Marc was enjoying his most peaceful lie-in ever when the house shook with such violence that his skull thumped painfully against the headboard.

A great roar erupted over the brow of the hill and when Marc pulled the curtains he saw a vast, mushroom-shaped fireball towering into the sky. But there were no planes and the explosion was twenty times bigger than any bomb he’d seen up to now.

The heat on the glass was intense, and as Marc heard saucepans clattering downstairs in the kitchen and a glass cabinet toppling in the living room, he was astonished to see a dozen people gathered at the bottom of the hill near the church. They held hands over brows to shield the glare, but looked oddly calm – as if they were watching a firework display, rather than facing the random threat of an air raid.

Alarmed and mystified, Marc pulled on his trousers and boots before buttoning his shirt and bounding downstairs. More blasts erupted as he glanced into the living room and confirmed his worst fears about the cabinets.

Although the spare house-key Marc found in Henderson’s study meant he could now use the front door, he still had no right to be in the house and he steered clear of the neighbours.

After ducking under the hedges enveloping the front gate, he looked to the top of the hill and saw that many of the men from the Dormitory Raquel also stood in the street, watching the receding flames. Smaller explosions continued to rumble, and it was fortunate that the wind was carrying the plumes of smoke away from them.